Down Below the Water
by J. Watson
Summary: Willow befriends Imelda, a young woman researching on a mysterious relative. Instead of it being a simple history project, Imelda becomes immersed in a world of witchcraft, lies, and family secrets. Finding her long-lost relative, Raphael, might not be a good thing for Imelda. Read to find out.
1. Mysterious Photograph

Painting used for cover image: "Drowning" by Thomas Tibitanzl.

* * *

San Francisco, California, 2003:

It took a lot of convincing from Imelda's friend Clive. But, she finally found herself attending a workshop at San Francisco's Family History Library. As Imelda scanned the faces of the attendees, she couldn't help but notice a redheaded woman in her twenties sitting beside the window. Although she was trying her best to be perky, there was a particular sadness in the woman's eyes.

"Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Richard, and I will be leading the workshop today. Hopefully, all of you received the email asking you to bring a box of photographs. We will begin with a simple exercise in which you label the photographs that you brought with you. Eventually, you'll be using your labels to chart your family tree."

It was like clockwork. Everyone in the classroom took out their boxes. Imelda took out her modest shoebox of photographs as well. She looked over to the redhead. Only instead of taking out a shoebox, the redhead took out a laptop. _Somebody was smart enough to scan their photographs_, thought Imelda.

"So, since we want to make this a communal activity, you will be put into groups. Miss…" Richard was addressing the redhead.

She looked up from her laptop. "Who me?" She asked in a girlish voice. "Willow. Willow Rosenberg."

"Willow…could you join…" He looked at Imelda's and Clive's nametags. "…Imelda and Clive at this table?"

"Certainly," said Willow. She gathered her laptop, and moved next to Clive. "Hi-ya," said Willow, as she gave a little wave.

Imelda and Clive greeted her.

"I'm envious, Willow. You were so smart to bring a laptop instead of a dusty shoebox," said Imelda, when they were able to talk in groups.

"Oh, I would've been shoebox lady too," responded Willow. "Except…my whole town was swallowed up into a Hellm…by a bad earthquake."

"Oh my god. I heard about that. I'm surprised that everybody got out alive in time," said Clive. "So, the only photos you have left are on your laptop?"

"No," said Willow. "These were the ones that I scanned from my mother's stash. Well, I joined this class because this was supposed to be a mother-daughter bonding thing. But, mom was called for a symposium in Denver, and she couldn't pass that up. Not when she lost tenure at U.C. Sunnydale, on account of the town, you know, imploding."

"That's too bad," said Imelda. "Maybe you can still work with her on this."

"True," said Willow. "I need her to decipher all the so-called intellectuals in our family line. Good news, though. No relation to Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. We're just a normal two-dimensional family tree so far."

By then, Imelda had scattered the photos from her shoebox on the table.

"Wow…your family is so interesting. Look at all these pictures," said Clive, as he goes through Imelda's photographs.

"I wouldn't say interesting," Imelda laughs, "but there are so many. I haven't looked through them in years." She carefully picks up a black and white picture of her grandmother.

"Hey, I see the family resemblance already," said Willow, as she looked at Imelda's grandmother.

Imelda laughed. "Yeah, the trademark eyebrow of disapproval."

"Here's my grandmother's picture. She's made up as if the Victorian Era never ended." Imelda looked at Willow's grandmother. It was a sepia tone picture of a bespectacled woman. She looked as exciting as an accordion.

"That's a nice picture. I so like your scanning idea a lot, Willow. With a little convincing, maybe I can get the key from my parents."

"Key?" asked Clive and Willow in unison.

"We have a storage locker filled with tons of photographs," said Imelda.

"Tons of photographs. You mean boxes and boxes that are collecting dust?" asked Clive, his eyes widening as he envisioned a mound of cartons.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that. My parents gave these to me a few years ago. At the time, I was studying photography. They said it was for inspiration, but I think it was because they were moving to Cleveland."

"Who is this handsome fellow?" Willow asked, as she holds up a picture of a sharp-dressed young man. The young man looked to be in his early twenties. Although short in height, his composure compensated—with its dignity and calmness. His light-brown eyes were wise, yet sad…like he was expecting a tragedy. His wavy black hair seemed caught in a breeze.

"Hmmm, I don't know," said Imelda, "he doesn't look familiar. Are there other pictures of him?"

Clive digs through the shoebox, holding up photo after photo.

"I'm not seeing anything," said Clive, "Maybe there's more in the other boxes?"

"Does it say anything on the back of the photo?" asked Imelda. Willow turned over the photograph.

"Let's see. It has the name Rafael written on the back," said Willow.

Imelda gave a confused expression as Willow passed the photograph to her. "Uh oh, the trademark eyebrows. Still doesn't ring any bells, huh?"

"No, not really," said Imelda, "I should ask my parents. It's such a nice picture…definitely worth showcasing in an exhibit. You know the Family History Library will be doing a display at the de Young."

Imelda studied the background: "I wonder what river that is."

.


	2. Little Miss Journalist

At home, Imelda sat staring at the picture. There was something enchanting about Rafael's eyes. She wondered who he was in relation to her. Was he a forgotten relative? Or just a family friend? She figured her parents would know.

Imelda's mother, Rhea's, upbeat voice answered the phone.

"Mama, it's me."

"Oh, Imelda, you're father and I was just talking about you. You probably know the answer to this. Where did I leave your Tiá Minerva's molé recipe? I've been searching all over for it."

"Ay, mom. I told you to put it in that recipe book I bought you," said Imelda, laughing.

"I know. But she was talking so much that I didn't want to just get up and go to the kitchen," said Rhea, "Oh, I'll just buy something from El Lagarto. Your father's club won't know the difference."

"That's the best way to go. Besides, isn't molé hard to do? Your hands have been hurting you lately."

"Yeah, but Lupe was going on and on about how good hers was. I just thought I'd try breaking out a family recipe, you know. I know ours will taste better than hers."

"Oh mama, but you don't know how to cook!" exclaimed Imelda.

"Yeah, but it would still taste better than Lupe's." Rhea and Imelda laugh over the phone.

"Listen, mama, I found a photo in the boxes and…" said Imelda.

"Good, you're finally going through the boxes. Anything good?" asked Rhea.

"Yes, actually, I found a photograph of a young guy. He looks a lot like Tió Charlie, only with black hair. It's a really old picture."

"Oh, does it have anything written on the back?" asked Rhea.

"Yes, mama, it says Rafael," the other end of the line went quiet, "Mama, does that name sound familiar?"

"No, it doesn't sound familiar," said Rhea, her voice a little shaky.

"Are you okay, mama?" asked Imelda, "you sound funny."

"No…yes…listen, I think your father's calling me," said Rhea, "I better let you go, sweetheart."

"Sure, mama, are you sure you're okay? Mama?" Imelda realized Rhea was no longer on the other line.

* * *

"What? You're Miss Journalist. What do you mean I shouldn't pursue this?" asked Imelda, facing Jackie across the table.

"Yeah, but family's different. You don't know the full story, Imelda. Maybe your family forgot about this Rafael for a reason," said Jackie, sipping her red wine afterwards.

Imelda chose the restaurant because it was her favorite. Now her best friend was spoiling the occasion.

"Besides, why are you pursuing this, Imelda? You have so many kick-ass photos that you can put in the exhibit. Even Clive agrees with me. He said you're making all of our family trees look dull."

"I know. But…maybe if I ask differently or approach it from another angle, I'll be able to learn more."

"You said it yourself. Your mother sounds uneasy every time you mention Rafael's name."

"Aren't you just the least bit curious, Jackie?" Jackie's facial expression didn't change, "Well, maybe if it was your family, you'd be taking an interest. Anyhow, Jackie, I've been researching my family's history for a few weeks now and…"

"You didn't tell me that," said Jackie.

"Well, that was what tonight was for. Anyhow, I was researching my family and there were some family members that traveled to New York City. I guess they were looking for work in the city, and since the African-Americans were having luck there, my family probably thought it'd be a good opportunity."

"Did you find Rafael, then?" asked Jackie, as she leaned forward to hear Imelda better. The journalist was coming out of her.

"No, not exactly. Okay, there was a record of one of my relatives: Hector Garza, who was my grandmother's uncle. Then, there is Ignacio Flores—a man listed as living with my uncle in a Census record. Flores was my grandmother's last name before she got married. But I don't know if there is any relation. She only had two older brothers and a younger sister—and I know all of their names. Rafael doesn't come up in any records. Ignacio does, though."

"But what does that got to do with Rafael?" asked Jackie.

"That's what I'm getting at. Look at the picture. The dressing style. It has to be the same time period. What if Rafael joined them later on? I mean it has to be that. I checked New York City records for Rafael, but all of the names didn't match up with the guy in the picture."

"Imelda, you don't even know if the guy is even related to you," said Jackie.

"But what if I find out he is. It would be so incredible to add a lost branch to the family tree," said Imelda, her arms waving frantically in the air.

"All right, somebody has had way too many Mai Tais. Waiter, check please?"


	3. Real Magic

Imelda didn't know what everybody's problem was. How often do you find something like this? How often does somebody get the chance to reconnect with their roots? Isn't that why her parents kept those pictures in the first place? As the weeks were passing, though, Rafael's features began to haunt her. There was something about his eyes, but she couldn't place her finger on it.

It had been two weeks since her dinner with Jackie, and Imelda wasn't having any luck in the researching department. She exhausted all the online archives for New York City. She even tried the town that her family originated from, a place long forgotten by urbanization. Still nothing.

So, she supposed Clive's alternative—although crazy—was worth a try. Well, actually it was a special invite from Willow. Imelda was surprised that Willow and Clive stayed in touch. Willow was only there for one workshop before she had to go to Europe. Imelda actually looked forward to seeing her. There was something warm about Willow's presence that contrasted with the cynicism of Imelda's other friends. I guess you can say that urban life does that to you.

They met Willow at the Wicca Convention at the Moscone Center. Imelda was surprised to see Clive embracing Willow.

"Nice to see you both. Glad you two can make it," said Willow.

"Where've you been, Willow? You charted off to Europe before we got to the good stuff," said Imelda.

"I had to help out a friend. She's been trying to start up her own…business. I hate to say it, but my friend is in way over her head. But we're there for her," said Willow.

"Speaking of over her head, Imelda is still trying to find out who Rafael is," said Clive.

"Really?" asked Willow. "Well, according to the advert, there're some psychics here today. Maybe you'll have some luck?"

"I don't know, Willow. Aren't psychics known for giving bogus readings?"

"True. There are some that are hokey-dokey. But, it's worth a try. That's the great thing about these conventions. You might find little surprises."

* * *

As the three of them explored the convention, Imelda had yet to see any surprises. "Witches" were spread through the convention center, with their tables selling charms and love potions. Imelda was unimpressed, but she was trying to be respectful to Clive and Willow.

"Hey look, magic herbs to make your breasts bigger," Clive raised his eyebrows toward Imelda.

"Get the hell out of here," said Imelda, punching him playfully in the arm.

"Ouch, Clive, not cool," said Willow, as she tsked Clive.

"Ooh, there's herbs for guys. I got to see this. I'll be back," said Clive, as he made his way towards the table.

"I see a table selling Dragon's Bane. It might come in handy for my friend's sister. She's going through a change," said Willow. "I'll be back, okay."

"Yeah, definitely," responded Imelda.

Imelda walked alone. She admired a wind chime made of crystals.

"Do you want your fortune read?" asked a female voice. Imelda turned around to face a young woman with reddish-brown hair. The seated woman was dressed in a long black dress, with sleeves that resembled medieval flags.

The woman's palms were facing up. Imelda didn't want to be rude.

"I suppose so," said Imelda, as she sat opposite from the woman.

"What brings you to the convention?" asked the woman.

"My friend and I were invited by another friend," responded Imelda.

"Oh, so the redheaded woman you were with is a friend?" inquired the woman.

Imelda felt uneasy by the question. "Yes, she's a friend."

The woman gripped Imelda's hands. "It's so depressing. Most of this stuff isn't even magical."

_Yeah_, thought Imelda, _this woman should be talking. She's dressed up like a Salem Witch Trial extra_.

"I suppose so. I'm just here for fun," said Imelda, "Besides, who truly believes in magic. It's so not true."

"Oh, but I do believe in magic. I'm a witch, after all."

"Okay," remarked Imelda, the skepticism evident in her voice, "So what are you a witch of?"

"I guess you can say I've dabbled in everything. But I prefer the dark arts. I had a _friend _who dabbled in it. But she was too weak to take it to the next level."

Imelda just stared at this woman.

"I'm sorry. How rude of me. I should introduce myself. My name is Amy."

"Imelda. So, what do you consider real magic?"

"Something that connects you to the earth's elements. If you're in touch enough, you can really alter it for your own purposes. You don't believe me."

Imelda felt a shiver up her spine. "Oh, I do."

"Good," said Amy, "because then you would never find Rafael. Only he now spells it R-A-P-H-A-E-L."

"Excuse me?" asked Imelda, dumbfounded.

"Raphael…the long-lost relative you've been searching for for weeks," said Amy, as she gripped Imelda's hands tighter, "But are you really sure you want to meet him?"

"You mean learn about him. That would be…wait, did Clive tell you about my family history project?" asked Imelda.

"Clive. I don't know a Clive. But I'm familiar with your other little friend, and her penchant for causing trouble. And you will learn about Raphael…all right, if that's what you want to call it," said Amy.

Imelda looked nervously for Clive or Willow. She saw Clive at a table thirty feet away. He was grinning idiotically, as he held up a phallic-shaped idol. Willow was nowhere in sight.

"No, you have the power to reawaken him," Amy looked at the blank expression on Imelda's face, "The spiritual world works like a guitar string. You pluck the string a certain way, and power reverberates to make a sound…a channel of sorts. Does that make sense?"

Imelda was trying to back away, but her body would not budge.

"Okay, I'm done doing this sisterly bonding thing. You need to learn that there're consequences for associating with girls like Willow Rosenberg."

* * *

Amy's hands begin to twitch. A red mist begins to encircle her head. Imelda wanted to look at Clive, but was too scared to turn her head.

When Amy opened her eyes, Imelda could've have sworn they resembled black orbs. Amy raises her hands, and directs them at Imelda's head. The red mist seems to penetrate Imelda's eyes and nose.

Her thoughts are hazy, until she sees Raphael—as he looked in the picture. She sees him posing for the photograph. She sees him walking into a speakeasy alone. She sees him stripped naked and encircled by a group of men. She sees him being violated and tortured and thrown in the river to drown. She sees…she sees….

"Imelda, speak to me. Come on." Imelda begins seeing Willow's facial features.

"What the hell happened to me?" asked Imelda. Her head felt heavy as Clive lifted her up.

"I don't know. You were standing one minute, and then you were on the floor."

"Where's Amy?" asked Imelda.

"Who's Amy?" asked Clive.

A look of concern spread across Willow's face. "Okay, Imelda, listen to me. Do you remember where Amy went?"

So, Amy did know Willow.

"Clive, can you watch Imelda? I'll be right back," said a concerned Willow. She took off before Clive could respond.

Imelda was less concerned about Amy. She finally knew why Raphael's eyes began to haunt her.


	4. Finding Raphael

Imelda stayed in bed for days, too depressed to go out. Clive and Jackie left several messages on Imelda's machine. But she had yet to contact them. She was just too exhausted…ever since the Wicca Convention. She wondered if she dreamt her encounter with Amy, and if the connection she was making with Raphael's eyes were really true.

Willow's visit was unexpected. But not altogether unwelcomed.

"Willow?" asked Imelda. "How'd you find me?"

"Clive gave me your address. Don't freak out or anything. I'm not some nutty serial killer. I just want to help."

"I don't need any help, Willow. I'm just feeling under the weather."

"I hate to break it to you, Imelda. But if you're expecting drizzling, you're actually in store for a thunderstorm. Could I come in so we can talk a little?"

"Sure," said Imelda, as she let Willow in. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine. I don't know if I'll be staying long. I have to go to Europe again for my friend. Kennedy's going to be pissed at me," said Willow.

"Kennedy?" asked Imelda.

"I'm getting personal again. Let's re-shift gears. What you encountered with Amy was real," said Willow. She decided to forgo the gentle approach, given that Amy could be a potential threat to Imelda.

"Excuse me?" asked Imelda. She started to regret letting Willow into her home.

"The supernatural stuff you described was actually supernatural stuff. Amy's a witch, and so am I."

"Okay, I'm not following you," said Imelda.

"It's better if I show you," said Willow. She levitated in the air. Imelda backed up against the wall in fright.

"Did Clive put you up to this?" asked Willow. "Clive…Jackie…this isn't funny. You could lower the wires holding Willow now."

"They're not wires, Imelda," said Willow. "Okay, don't hate me for what I'm about to do."

"What?" asked Imelda. With a chant, Willow sent a whirlwind through Imelda's living room that decimated her furniture.

"Oh my god, what the hell…" Before Imelda could finish her sentence, Willow gave another chant and the furniture reassembled itself like they were just store bought.

Imelda couldn't do anything but sit down. "Okay, I'm a believer."

* * *

"I still can't believe this," said Imelda. "For the past few days, I thought I was losing it. What Amy did just didn't seem right to me. It would be the second time that…"

"That what?" asked Willow.

"That I lost my senses for a certain period of time. I was date-raped a few years ago. I was slipped a roofie," said Imelda.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you," said Willow, as she squeezed Imelda's hand. "The same thing almost happened to a friend of mine. Did you report the guy to the police?"

"I didn't have to. He was found murdered not long after I was rushed to the hospital," said Willow.

Willow kept holding Imelda's hand, but stayed quiet.

"I know what you're thinking. It's pretty convenient that the guy ends up dead the same night. I've been struggling about that for the past few years. On one hand, I'm glad that he's dead because he won't hurt another girl. But then, I feel guilty because I thought he was a nice guy, and I can't shake that first impression."

"I don't want to bring up bad memories for you, Imelda. But that night, when…do you recall making any kind of wishes. Like…you wished something bad would happen to the guy who was harming you?"

"I…I don't remember. I might've wished for justice. But…honestly, Willow, I can't remember much about that night," said Imelda, "I've been trying to stay busy with family and friends. I've tried not to get myself in compromising situations. So when this whole thing with Amy happened…"

"It was like you were vulnerable again," finished Willow.

"Yes," said Imelda. "She showed me things about Raphael, Willow. Things that I never would've learned. And I think he's not dead."

"You're right. He's not dead. He's immortal," said Willow.

"Wait, so not only does witchcraft exist, but immortality too?" asked Imelda.

"I hate to break it to you, doll. But it's all real…vampires, witches, demons…"

"So, if Raphael still exists, which of the three is he?"

"Well, the good news is that he's choice number three—which allows for some gray areas," said Willow.

"Okay, that's a start. Where do you think Raphael is on the gray spectrum?"

"Uh, I think he's more towards the middle to the right," said Willow.

Imelda pondered it for a moment. "You're telling me that he's more towards the dark side, aren't you?"

"Yup," responded Willow with strained cheeriness.

* * *

During their conversation, Willow received a phone call. She took her call in the kitchen area for privacy. Imelda could still hear some of the call.

"Xander, Amy's going to outsmart the Wiccan Slayers that we have. Her mother was the Darth Vader of witchery. Remember that whole 'Freaky Friday' deal in high school?"

Imelda could see Willow pacing back and forth. "Put Buffy on the line, Xander."

Willow paced some more.

"Buffy, what do you mean Giles has gone AWOL? Okay, you're really starting to worry me. Giles doesn't go off the grid. Not when he worked so hard in helping us create our headquarters."

"No, you don't have to worry. Buffy, it's not like Warren can accompany Amy in public. Okay, look I better go. I have a friend here that I'm helping. I'll be there soon."

Willow hung up the phone.

"Wow, it sounds like you have a lot going on with your friends," said Imelda.

"'A lot' doesn't even begin to sum it up," said Willow. "When our town got swallowed up, it forced us to start all over again. But I needed a break, you know. I wanted to visit my family and regroup a little."

"I don't want to be selfish or anything, Willow. But you said that my relative may be a not-so-nice demon," said Imelda.

"Oh no, you're not being selfish at all. I'm the one being selfish. I came here bearing information, but I've veered off my noble path. I think you're relative might be a Vengeance Demon, Imelda."

"Vengeance demon?" asked Imelda. It wasn't sounding good.

"A vengeance demon grants wishes to people that feel like they've been wronged," said Willow.

It didn't take long for Willow's explanation to register in her mind. "And I've been wronged."

"I'm not saying that you called Raphael, Imelda," said Willow. "But we have to explore the possibility that he maybe got drawn to you."

Imelda let the words sink in. "I want to meet him. What do I have to do? Make another wish?"

"It doesn't exactly work like that. Your wish needs to have darker undertones," said Willow.

"Then, what do I do? I need to know about Raphael.

"I can do a spell to conjure Raphael's presence. But if I do that, you're going to have to be careful. Vengeance Demons pick up on the slightest tinge of anger or despair. We can't take the chance that Raphael won't try to exploit that in you."

"Okay, I won't let that happen," responded Imelda.

"I'm really serious about this. You have to be a clichéd cucumber, the coolest of britches…you get the picture," said Willow.

"Okay," said Imelda.

"I'm going to need you to close your eyes and concentrate. Think about the images that

Amy unlocked in your mind," said Willow.

Imelda followed Willow's instructions. She concentrated until Willow's voice sounded like a distant echo. She could barely make out Willow saying something in Latin.

* * *

"Willow?" asked Imelda, when she opened her eyes. Only, Imelda was standing alone in her bedroom. Looking out the window, it turned from dusk turn into night within seconds.

Imelda turned and screamed with fear as a demonic looking creature with blue eyes stood at the bedroom door. The creature's body and face began to change shape. Imelda was surprised at who stood before her.

"I suppose we should talk," said Raphael.

"You were there that night…weren't you?" asked Imelda, as she approached Raphael. "I remember your eyes. You were the paramedic that took me to the hospital."

"It was me, yes," said Raphael, as he looked directly into Imelda's eyes. His eyes looked like they belonged to the loneliest boy in the world.

"Why didn't you ever approach me before?" asked Imelda.

"You didn't need me before. I appeared because of what was done to you," said Raphael, solemnly.

"So, is that why he ended up dead that night?" asked Imelda.

"Yes. I granted your wish," said Raphael. Imelda began crying.

"I tried to make it seem like an accident…so that people wouldn't be suspicious of you."

"Who are you?" asked Imelda, looking at Raphael through tear-filled eyes.

"I'm Ignacio Rafael Flores. I was your great-grandmother's youngest brother," replied Raphael, looking at Imelda directly.

"Why don't they acknowledge you?" asked Imelda.

"It's a long story. I was different, then," said Raphael, "They were scared of me. The family."

"Why?" asked Imelda.

"I'm a vengeance demon, Imelda. Better known as Raphael the Vengeance Demon in certain circles. The vision you saw with me in the river…that was when I died. My spirit…it couldn't accept death and what was done to me. So, I was recruited."

"Recruited by whom?" asked Imelda.

"That detail doesn't matter. But, in our culture, demons are the same as devils. Because of that, our family would rather forget me than acknowledge me."

"How did you know I needed you that night?" asked Imelda.

"I felt your pain. I knew that you wouldn't be given justice. So, I intervened. Vengeance demons are prohibited from associating with family members, but…somebody helped me find a way around that rule."

Imelda hugged Raphael. He was taken aback by the gesture. It had been a long time since a human showed him affection.

"I'm glad I found you," said Imelda through tears.

Raphael didn't know what to do but extend his arms around Imelda.

* * *

"Did you make contact with the girl?" asked Roden.

"Yes. She knows everything now about Raphael," said Amy, "You know I never disappoint."

"Splendid," said Roden, "So we just have to wait. My Slayer will be ready to strike when the time is right."

"Slayer?" asked Amy, "They are so tiresome to me."

"I'm sure you'll like my Slayer…Lady Genevieve Savidge. She'll be poised to take over, and change the cosmos," said Roden.

"Still not impressed," said Amy, rolling her eyes.

"She may be the key to ridding us of a common slayer…Buffy Summers," said Roden.

"All right, now you got my attention," said Amy


	5. Anyanka's Anniversary

Sunnydale, California, 2003:

Raphael overlooked the giant crater that was once Sunnydale. He was devastated upon hearing the news of Anya's death. Seeing her final resting place made matters worse. He paid his respects and then teleported away to his apartment in San Francisco.

Once again, he could hear the cable cars outside, the bustling traffic and quick steps of people. It was just the first year anniversary, but it felt like yesterday. Raphael sat in his chair, exhausted. He relocated to San Francisco to be near his family member, Imelda.

Raphael felt a stirring in his apartment. He knew at once who it was.

"Did you go see her grave?"

"Yes, I did. Are you going to chastise me?" asked Raphael. He turned to see Gregor emerging from the shadows.

Gregor looked the same as always. He had razor-sharp barbs that protruded from his skin. His eyes—irises included—were a fluorescent blue. They matched Raphael's when Raphael was in his demon form.

"What makes you think I have a problem?" asked Gregor, sitting in a chair opposite of Raphael.

"Because you didn't want me to go to Sunnydale," said Raphael, his eyes intent on Gregor's gaze. "You were so adamant about it that you stormed off when I didn't cooperate."

"I just don't understand why you acknowledge her, Raphael. She was responsible for Halfrek's death. She even destroyed Veeya, who she had a history with…."

Raphael shook his head in annoyance.

"Face it, Raphael, Anya was a traitor to her kind."

"Anya was not a traitor, Gregor. It wasn't her fault that she became human."

"But she chose to go back. She would've sacrificed anyone for her human life. Probably even you."

"What difference does it make, all right? Anya was my friend and mentor. She initiated me into demonhood. Why can't you understand that?"

"Because I care for you, that's why," said Gregor, as he grabs Raphael's hand, "You've been distant with me for a while now. I don't want to lose you."

Gregor's hands were the only body parts that weren't dangerous or razor-sharp. Yet, Raphael drew his hand away as though they were.

"Stop doing that," said Raphael.

"Why?" asked Gregor.

"Because..we ended what we had a long time ago," said Raphael.

Raphael could see the hurt in Gregor's eyes, as he removed his hand.

"I appreciate that you're here for me," said Raphael, "I just don't want you to get the wrong impression."

The both of them stayed silent.

"You probably don't want me here…"

"Gregor, please I…."

"No, I wanted to tell you something else," said Gregor, "In two days, I will have fulfilled my contract. I'm being given back my human form again."

"So, you won't be in servitude anymore?"

"It's just my body, Raphael. I'll still be a demon. To be honest with you, I had a choice," said Gregor.

"Why choose a human form? I thought you didn't like humans," said Raphael.

"It matters to me only because maybe then you'll accept me in your heart," said Gregor.

"You know, Gregor, your physical form never mattered to me," said Raphael, "It was always the man you are."

"Then why can't we be together?" asked Gregor.

"Because…there's just too much pain…" said Raphael.

"I understand," said Gregor, "It was what those men did to you."

"D'Hoffryn doesn't want me to forget it," said Raphael, "It is the very source that fuels my rage and vengeance."

"Am I interrupting anything?" _Speak of the devil_, thought Raphael.

Raphael and Gregor turned to see D'Hoffryn standing near the doorway.

"No, not at all," said Gregor. "I was just about to leave."

"Impeccable timing," said D'Hoffryn, "Raphael and I need to talk."

"I will see you later, then?" said Gregor.

"Yes, later," said Raphael.

Gregor nodded to D'Hoffryn, and disappeared into the shadows.

"I wish you would've told me you'd visit," said Raphael, "I would've made sure he wasn't here."

"Raphael, you know I've never much cared for Gregor," said D'Hoffryn, "I just don't think he's suitable for you. Vengeance demons should stick to their own kind—lest the very reason for their existence be erased."

"Gregor and I are no longer involved. He was just visiting me in my time of grief," said Raphael.

"Oh, yes, Anyanka. Has it been over a year already?" asked D'Hoffryn. "I stopped keeping tabs on her when I was forced to slay Halfrek. It was painful to me when Anyanka shirked off her duties."

"Not to give Anyanka any excuses, but she did live a full human life before she decided to resume her demon form," said Raphael.

D'Hoffyn raised his arm and telepathically pinned Raphael against the wall.

"Foolish demon. Do you not remember that Anyanka was human originally? And a selfish, petty human at that. She willingly sought vengeance and fulfilled her calling with each deliverance of sweet vengeance that she gave."

"You've made your point," said Raphael. "Will you release me now?"

D'Hoffyn looked inquisitively at Raphael before letting him go.

"My point is that Anyanka forgot who she was by associating with the wrong individuals," said D'Hoffryn. "Which brings me to you…end your relationship with Gregor or there will be consequences."

"You're just my employer," said Raphael.

"Employer and keeper of your existence. I could flay you right here and now. But I'm not warning you because of my personal biases," said D'Hoffryn, "Something is coming, and Gregor will be an inconvenience…as well as you're relative."

Raphael tried to remain aloof.

"I don't know what you're referring to."

"Please, Raphael. Anyanka might've found your corpse, but I was the power that created you. I know when you're lying to me like a father knows about his son," said D'Hoffryn.

"Fine, then you know," said Raphael, looking cautiously at D'Hoffryn.

"I probably should flay the skin off your bones," said D'Hoffryn, the menace evident in his voice. "However, you have served me well, so I will overlook these indiscretions."

"Whatever you wish, D'Hoffryn," said Raphael.

"Good, that's what I like to hear," said D'Hoffryn, "Don't worry. You'll meet somebody else."

D'Hoffryn vanished, and Raphael was left alone in his grief. He remembered his last encounter with Anyanka.

* * *

Sunnydale, California, 2002:

"Did D'Hoffryn send you?" asked Anya.

"I came of my own accord," said Raphael. "Tell me, Anyanka. Has the guilt set in yet?" asked Raphael, his fluorescent blue eyes burrowing into Anya.

He found her sitting alone in a stairwell. The rain set in, and she was soaked by the rain. Raphael used his powers to ward off the water. Despite the pitifulness that Anya wore on her face and body language, Raphael remained steadfast in his words.

"Why would you ask me such a question, Raphael," said Anya, "I didn't know that he would harm Halfrek…." She breaks down into tears.

"But you knew a vengeance demon would die," retorted Raphael.

"Yes, you ignoramus, meaning myself," replied Anya, tartly.

Raphael used his demonic abilities to detect any inflections. After the register, he knew that Anya was speaking the truth. She really did expect D'Hoffryn to destroy her.

"What is going on with you?" asked Raphael, as his face shifted to his human visage. "Giving vengeance was never difficult for you before. What changed?"

"I don't know. I guess…being human…it just changes you so much. I just couldn't do it anymore," responded Anya.

"And yet somebody else suffers the consequences," said Raphael.

"I don't need you to judge me. I was willing to own up to my mistakes. I wasn't looking for somebody else to take my place" replied Anya.

"Was it because of that boy you fell for, or his friends—the witch and the Slayer?" asked Raphael.

"How about 'all of the above?'" said Anya.

They both remained in silence.

"Why can't it be simple for us, Raphael? We both ended up here because bad things happened to us, and we just couldn't let it go. We didn't seek help the right way. Instead, we looked for ways to punish and torment anybody who made people suffer like us" said Anya.

"Isn't that what we wanted?" asked Raphael, "The power to make the twisted and perverted feel just as helpless as their victims?"

"You don't understand. It just doesn't work that way," said Anya, "It's not that black and white."

"It is to me," said Raphael, "I have no doubts about what I'm on this earth to do."

Anya puts both her hands on Raphael's face. They both make eye contact for a second.

"Look at you. You look so beautiful in your human form. You're just a boy. It was never simple choices for us. I'm going to try to start over. But I wish you could have a new life, and start from scratch," said Anya.

"I don't need that Anya," Raphael's eyes flashed a fluorescent blue, as his skin becomes parched again. "I'm fine the way I am."

"I'm glad," said Anya. "I wish I could say the same thing about my decisions. But I have to live with them."

Anya stood up to walk away. She hugged herself in a lame attempt to keep warm.

"What will you do, Anyanka?" asked Raphael.

"I'm going to sleep tonight, wake up tomorrow, and be the ever conflicted but quirky 'Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins'" replied Anya over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Raphael."

Raphael watched Anya as her quivering form disappeared in the night rain.

* * *

Her words did not resonate with Raphael until the incident that happened with Imelda. Suddenly the personal mattered again, and Raphael was left questioning his entire existence. It was against the rules to associate with a family member. But when that family member was so desperate for justice, why should Raphael deny it because the person was related to him? Or better yet, related to his past self? Raphael seized to be Ignacio Rafael Flores a long time ago. Still, there was something comforting about having roots and being a part of something again. Even if his past family members turned their back on him.

Raphael could also be a part of something else with Gregor. But he knew that D'Hoffryn was speaking the truth. Not the part that demons shouldn't go outside of their species. The other part that Raphael was created by D'Hoffryn's power. If he kept trying D'Hoffryn's patience, it would lead to dire consequences. He also had to consider D'Hoffryn's foreshadowing that something was coming.

Either way, Raphael was finding that he was just as conflicted as Anya once was. For it was the second year anniversary that Anyanka ceased to be Anyanka. Would there come a day that Raphael would cease to be a demon as well?


End file.
